


The One with the Shinies (and how the concept of family evolves when you’ve all (mostly) got the same face)

by Pepperonian



Series: Tales from the 473rd [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Battlefield Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence, Clone Wars, Clones, Clones and their Jedi, Comfort, Force Empathy, Friendship, Gen, Jedi, Lightsabers, Minor OC Death, Nightmares, Slight Canon Divergence, Slight PTSD and Anxiety, Team as Family, The Clone Wars - Freeform, The Force, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24833038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pepperonian/pseuds/Pepperonian
Summary: Attn. CT-89004 ‘Rainer’You are hereby ordered to report at 0600 tomorrow to Sergeant CT-0599 ‘Link’ at Platform B for assignment to the 473rd Legion of the Grand Army of the Republic.As Ordered, on behalf of the Supreme Chancellor, by Admiral Tarkin***They're not taught to love their Jedi on Kamino, but a new clone finds himself growing into it anyway. It wouldn't be the first time.
Relationships: Briallen Tally & CC-4565 | Casey, Briallen Tally & CT-89004 | Rainer, Kayvin Avis & CC-4565 | Casey, Original Clone Character(s) & Original Jedi Character(s)
Series: Tales from the 473rd [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776703
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	The One with the Shinies (and how the concept of family evolves when you’ve all (mostly) got the same face)

**Author's Note:**

> Just a few warnings before I start- there is a character death in this that is mentioned, but no one from canon. As a result we have some nightmares and a little bit of grief and anxiety.
> 
> Also, this fic is 'gen' but we see the groundwork for a relationship that may or may not happen. In this fic though the two characters are strictly friends.

Coruscant is like nothing he’s ever seen before. Literally. All he’s ever seen is Kamino. Brothers and blasters and boring, boring white walls. Coruscant is almost overwhelming in comparison. It’s noise and some strange kind of smoke and never-ending activity.

And its dirty.

He’d never thought about how dirty life off Kamino would be. Everything there was clean and shining and in top order. Here, it was different. And no one seemed to mind.

Even the barracks were slightly dirtier. Of course, they were soldiers, so everything was neatly in its place, but one of the Coruscant guards had a tattered-edged picture of a grinning Pantoran woman. Another was a temple guard, and had charms strung around the posts of his bunk. Not to mention that there was no escaping that strange Coruscanti smoke that hung everywhere.

It covered everything in the thinnest layer of grime. No matter how much you scrubbed, you couldn’t clean it away. The boys stationed there called it ‘smog.’

It was one of the few things he didn’t like about Coruscant.

Not that it was going to matter for much longer.

They’d been there for a week for civilian integration training. Their demonstrators were, surprisingly, not brothers or Kaminoan. But that was all ending tomorrow.

CT-89004 looked down at the deployment order in his hands. The latest lot of shinies at the barracks had all gotten one today. Their assignments. Almost all of them would be leaving soon, to join the fight.

(Hardly anyone got assigned to the Coruscant Guard. They didn’t die as quickly as the regular troopers. They didn’t need replacing as often)

The order read:

> _Attn. CT-89004 ‘Rainer’_
> 
> _You are hereby ordered to report at 0600 tomorrow to Sergeant CT-0599 ‘Link’ at Platform B for assignment to the 473 rd Legion of the Grand Army of the Republic._
> 
> _As Ordered, on behalf of the Supreme Chancellor, by Admiral Tarkin_

***

They had the day off. Their first day of shore leave. Rainer almost didn’t know what to do with it. He’d never had a day to himself. But the apparently being in the Grand Army of the Republic came with more benefits than being some lowly clone on Kamino.

Rainer knew they were only getting this much time because the CC units had another day of integration training- this time at the Jedi temple. _Poor guys,_ he found himself thinking. He’d never met a Jedi. He probably wouldn’t ever. The Jedi leadership was stretched thin these days. It took more time and patience to train one. Even longer for them to mature; something about them being nat borns.

Rainer didn’t think he’d even get assigned to a unit with a Jedi. They were a combat luxury, if the guards around the Coruscant barracks were to be believed. Aloof, mysterious and cold-hearted, but freakish against a droid army.

“Where’d you get assigned?” Blue asked from the bunk over.

“473rd Legion,” Rainer replied, “I’ve never heard of them. You?”

Blue was his batchmate. But there was little chance of them being deployed together. Shinies didn’t just get assigned new legion anymore. They shipped out to fill gaps in the already depleted legions. Whatever else they were, Rainer and Blue were replacements.

Rainer looked up at his brother and then reached out to grip his shoulder. “Blue?” He asked. He’d never seen his brother look so… unsettled.

“501st,” Blue breathed.

“Kriff,” Rainer replied. It was all that had to be said, really. They’d grown up on Kamino. Not under a rock. The war had been raging for nearly six years. Everyone knew who the 501st were. Not just one Jedi- two Jedi Generals. It was unheard of.

Blue nodded dumbly. “Yeah,” he said, “High General Skywalker and General Tano. I’ve already looked them up.”

“And?”

Blue frowned. “They’re legends, alright,” he said. “I’m going to be getting a lot of action.”

That was true. The 501st was the most renowned and effective legion in the entire GAR, closely followed by the 212th. The Senate sent them everywhere they were most desperately needed. And the Jedi: Skywalker, Tano, Kenobi. They were names everyone knew. They were seen in the propaganda holos. They were everywhere. And deadly.

“They’ll probably draw a ton of fire in the field,” he said, comfortingly. “I don’t think I’ll have any Jedi.”

Blue looked relieved to talk about anything else. “Yeah, I’ve never heard of the 473rd.”

Rainer hummed in agreement.

“Why don’t we go check it out?”

He twisted to look at his brother. “What?”

“We can use the net here,” Blue said, sounding a little defensive. “And we’ve got the day off.”

Of course they did.

Rainer hadn’t even realised that they’d spent half of it sitting in the barracks waiting for orders. What use was freedom if you didn’t know how to use it? He scoffed at himself. This was pathetic.

“Fine,” he said. “Beats sitting around and making our armour even shinier.”

Blue was up off his bunk in the blink of an eye. “Let’s go then" he said, and physically dragged Rainer up off the bunk and out the door. The net terminals weren’t far. In the middle of the day, most of the shinies had already figured out what their newfound freedom meant and had left the barracks mostly empty. Only some administrative staff hung around, and off-duty Coruscant guards.

Blue flung himself into the seat at the terminal, keying in his details and pulling up a search bar for GAR files he was granted access to.

“Let’s see,” he hummed, typing ‘Legion-473’ into the bar.

It took the terminal only a moment before returning the relevant data.

**Status:** Active, Recalled to Capital

**Location:** Coruscant

**Flagship(s):** Integral

**Commander(s):** Jedi General Kayvin Avis, CC-4565 ‘Casey’

**Current Objective(s):** Classified

**Mission Reports:** Classified

**Notable Public Appearances:**

(Redacted by order of Jedi Council) Clone Wars Documentary by Cheiru Fas

“Huh,” Blue said. “Pretty standard, really.”

“I suppose so,” Rainer agreed, though suddenly more apprehensive than he had been before. Perhaps that Jedi acclimation training would have been useful.

***

Jedi Knight Kayvin Avis watched the graceful, athletic movements of his Padawan as she sparred.

It was rare that Bria had the opportunity to test herself against her age peers. It had been the will of the force that Knight Swan and her Padawan were simultaneously on Coruscant.

Flynn Rehtt had changed in the three years since Avis had last seen him. He could see it in his lightsaber form, in the economy of his graceful movements. There was nothing over-confident and showy there. Bultar had done well with him.

His own Padawan too showed the impact of three years of war in her fighting style. Once, she had practiced almost exclusively form six. Niman had been natural to her, master of none and willing to learn about all. Bria was more focused now, her strength in the force lending itself to Ataru-influenced combat.

Some things, however, remained almost unchanged.

His apprentice was cautious. More so, since she had gained more scars than most seventeen-year olds. He saw that in her style too, Soresu, the defensive form, now a definitive choice instead of the broadly styled Niman.

More settled. More focused. Still circumspect.

Bria was no longer clearly second to Flynn in combat. She was a smart, and patient, even where sometimes she failed to press an advantage, she kept herself in the fight.

He was proud of her. She had improved and learnt.

Bultar was the one to end the fight. The diminutive human stepped forwards, hands unfolding from her robes to signal the end of the fight. A slight smile played around her lips. Avis gathered she was pleased, too.

Flynn and Bria stopped easily, blue-bladed lightsabers disengaging. Bria clipped hers to her belt, back alongside her second.

“Well done to both of you,” Bultar said, still smiling. “You have both improved much since I last saw you fight.”

Bria inclined her head, “my thanks, Master Swan.”

Avis saw Flynn raise one eyebrow slightly at her, intrigued, as he bowed both to Avis and Swan. He knew what the padawan was noticing; not so long-ago Bria would never have spoken first.

“It would be beneficial to do this more often,” Flynn said, instead of commenting on it, “it felt a greater test of my skills than against droids.”

Bultar frowned at him, “humility, Flynn,” she reminded him gently. “But I understand. It is hard to train together when we are so often apart.” She turned to Avis. “How much longer are you on Coruscant for, Kayvin?”

Avis shook his head slightly. “Apologies, Bultar,” he said, “we’ve been redeployed.”

“I see.” She inclined her head. “May the Force be with you.”

Bria looked up at her. She was short, for a human female. Next to Bultar, who was of an average height, she looked diminutive. “Will you be staying here?”

It was Flynn who answered, “we have a week’s shore-leave,” he said, “though I sense we may be needed soon.”

“Indeed,” Bultar agreed. “I feel that the war is once again intensifying.”

Avis said nothing but nodded.

He could feel it too. The building tension in the Force. Only time would tell if it would ease slightly, as it had three years ago, or continue to grow.

“May the Force be with you, Bultar” he nodded at her, “and with you, Padawan,” he nodded at Flynn, before turning away.

Behind him, he heard Bria echo his sentiments, before coming to follow at his heels.

“Redeployed?” She asked, once they were away from the sparring mats. “Where?”

“Domestic terrorists on Concordia,” he replied.

“The Mandalore system?” Bria asked, thoughtful. “I would have thought Master Kenobi better suited to deal with that. Or, at least, Knight Tano. She was there for the Siege.”

“They are unavailable,” Avis replied, though he understood it was an unusual posting. The 473rd was not used to such small, domestic operations. It seemed more as if the Mandalorians required the presence of Jedi, and not the entire mm 473rd. He suspected it was more of a pitstop on their way to a more major battle ground.

Still, he was unsure as to how the now Republican Mandalorians would take to Jedi they did not usually have dealings with. Avis and Tally were not well-known names. Nor did they have any strong links to Mandalore’s recent past.

“I take it we’re leaving now?” Bria asked.

Avis nodded again. It was a human habit, but he seemed to have picked it up after all these years at the Temple. “I will meet you on _Integral_ ” he said. “Casey is briefing me on our resupply first.”

Bria inclined her head briefly before retreating, likely to her room, to gather what limited items she would need for another prolonged mission away from the core. Avis hoped she took her time.

He had a feeling they would not see the Temple for a while.

***

Link was an old trooper in battered dark green and white armour, waiting impatiently in front of the small fleet of troop carriers that would be carrying them up to the 473rd’s fleet.

There were surprisingly few carriers on the platform. Platform A had only half of the troops shipping out with General Mundi. They had to do it in shifts.

Yet Platform B was almost empty. Less than a hundred new troopers stood outside. It was a surprisingly clear day on Coruscant. It was also surprisingly cold. Rainer tried not to shiver in his armour as the Sergeant looked them over.

“Shinies,” he grunted.

This was better than the alternative, Rainer reminded himself, better than having some Jedi look over him, peeling thoughts from his head.

Transport 4 was the last off the platform that morning. Link roared at them to get on board as soon as the others had taken off. If Rainer wasn’t very much mistaken, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

They were all quick to comply, slinging their gear bags down at their feet and grabbing a hold of the rails above.

And just like that, they were gone.

Rainer wasn’t just a clone anymore. He was a part of the GAR. He’d live and die with these brothers. And they all seemed to know it.

Link, however, hadn’t gotten the serious memo. He emerged from the cockpit and disengaged his helmet with a sigh. He certainly wasn’t a shiny. There was a serious looking scar either side of his lip, and a thick ridge in his hairline.

This was a brother who had seen battle.

“Kriffing Coruscant traffic,” he complained, not bothering to hold onto any railings at all. “At ease, boys, it’ll take a while for us to breach atmo.”

Some of the others relaxed a little. Rainer couldn’t find it in himself to ease the tension in his spine.

Link didn’t seem to notice, leaning back against the doors to the cockpit casually.

“I might as well brief you now,” he said, “seeing as we’re all stuck in this lane waiting for control to clear us. Half the bloody third systems Army’s redeploying today.”

He launched into a standard spiel. He detailed shifts and sleep cycles and made an exceptionally derogatory comment about the standard of the long-life rations they got when they ran out of fresh supplies. Then he got onto assignments. Rattling out a list of names of Units each brother would be joining.

Rainer didn’t hear his designation until the end.

“CT-89004, and,” he peered at his datapad, “CT-89730.”

Rainer, and a trooper just down the line from him came to attention. “Sir!”

Link rolled his eyes, “at ease boys. You’re with my unit,” he grinned, “we all report to Captain Hiro.”

It was then, one clone who was braver than Rainer, at least, piped up, “what can you tell us about the upper command, sir?”

Link laughed. “You mean Commander Casey? Or the Jedi?”

The trooper balked. “Both, I guess, sir.”

The sergeant stroked the beginnings of a wispy beard, “Commander Casey’s a good, solid brother. I’m telling you now, he’s got all of our backs. Between him and the Jedi there’s a reason we’ve got some of the lowest casualty rates in the GAR,” his eyes wrinkled a little bit as he grinned at them, “and as for the Jedi, that’s for your CO to tell you.”

And that was that.

There were a few other, unrelated, queries that Link answered with the ease of a veteran soldier. Clearly, this wasn’t his first time giving ‘the talk’ to newbies. He mentioned that their commanding officers would be relaying the details of their deployment tomorrow to their individual units.

The last thing he said before they disembarked- the only transport to land on the flagship, was, “the General takes… uh…. _exception_ to your civilian integration programs,” he said, “so expect there to be some further training in that regard.” He smirked, “you’ve still got a lot left to learn.”

And then, with a jolt, they were there.

Neither Rainer nor CT-89730 made any move. They stood awkwardly with their gear bags until Link made a kind of ‘hurry up’ motion, and they disembarked.

“Let’s move,” he said, and started moving out of the hangar and into the sprawling bowels of the ship.

He talks at them without ever turning to face them. A skill long-practiced with years of marching in lines.

“You boys have names yet?”

“Rainer,” he supplies.

“Blake,” says the other trooper, just as new and shiny.

Link seems pleased, “that’s something at least. Used to be they sent you to us with nothing. Just the number.”

“I take it we don’t use those around here,” Blake observes.

“We don’t do a lot of things around here,” Link says, “especially if its what they taught on Kamino.”

He takes them to their barracks.

They’re even messier than on Coruscant. Someone’s bunk is covered in a stripped down blaster. An abandoned game of cards lies across the floor and everywhere are personal photographs, maps, a couple of well-done sketches.

The walls are covered in personality.

Otherwise, the room is empty.

Link gestures around proudly.

“Welcome to Hailfire Company,” he says, “best in the whole legion. Whatever empty bunk you can find is yours.”

Almost without thinking Rainer’s stepped up to the nearest wall, examining a picture of five grinning clones. He recognises Link, grinning on the edge of the group.

“You’ll meet them all tonight,” Link said, glancing at him. “Case and Hiro are probably in a briefing, but the others are probably all in the training hall.”

Link laid a hand on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry, kid,” he said. “We’ll look after you. That’s what we do here.”

“In Hailfire?” Rainer found himself asking.

Link was smiling. “In the 473rd.” He jerked his head towards the bunks. “Come on then trooper. Let’s get you fed before the Captain comes back to brief us all.”

***

Hailfire company was loud and messy. They came storming in, sweaty and swearing after training, stripping their armour off and into their lockers like they’d done this together a thousand times before.

They probably had.

Rainer tried to learn their names as fast as he could.

There was Link, of course, his commanding sergeant. And then there was the ARC, Marker, who was quiet, but had a grin you could cut yourself on.

Hooper and Watts were both _loud._ Exuberant might have been a better word for it. They clapped both Rainer and Blake on the back so hard they’d stumbled. That was all before knowing their names.

There were others too, Trip, who seemed shy, but apparently had a propensity for blowing things up. Gar, who he was warned was light-fingered as well as Wisp and Brin, whose armour was painted the same.

Link said even he couldn’t tell them apart.

And then there was Captain Hiro. The only person Rainer had met so far with the power to get them all to shut up for even a second.

Briefing was informal- they all just sat down on their bunks, or stood around while the Captain talked to them, but it showed they were all soldiers.

The entire Hailfire company sat down and shut up. Their dark eyes were sharp on the battle plans projected on the only blank wall in the barracks. Even relaxing, it was easy to tell the brothers were creatures of war.

“Welcome back, everyone,” Captain Hiro had said, striding into the barracks. His hair was buzzed into near oblivion, but otherwise, nothing marked him out as particularly special. Save of course, his armour.

“I hope you enjoyed your shore leave. Sorry it’s been cut short.”

Hailfire accepted this news silently. Rainer guessed it happened a lot.

Hiro booted up his projector. It showed their flight path. Perhaps a day and a half long. “Right then, chaps. We’re headed to Concordia. Only recently become an active front. The Mandalore system was thought to be safe three years ago when Generals Skywalker and Tano with the 501st won the Siege of Mandalore, but it appears a local terrorist cell has re-established itself on Concordia. We suspect Separatist involvement.”

The slide changed to a close up of Concordia.

“The Mandalorians have since elected to join the Republic however, their military commander Lady Kryze doesn’t have the troops to clean up Concordia, and Mandalore wants its moon back. That’s where we come in. Expect arrival sometime tomorrow. General Avis wants to make friendly contact with the Mandalorian Governor there first, so we’ll send a couple of units out with them. Expect surveillance operations to begin in earnest, before we move to combat engagements over the next month.”

Hiro stopped and glanced over his men. “Understood?”

There was a general chorus of “yes, Sir!”

Hiro smiled then. “Kriff am I glad to be out of that meeting.”

“Casey still wound up about the Hanova incident?” Marker asked, shrewd.

“It’s been nearly a year,” Hooper objected, “the Commander’s fine now.”

Hiro sighed heavily, “I know. The General forgot about it months ago.”

“He is a Jedi,” Trip pointed out.

The Captain shrugged. “True. But you know Case. Weight of the kriffing galaxy on his shoulders. Especially about family.”

“Take it the commander’s been cleared for combat?” Watts asked.

“Months ago,” another brother said. Link, this time. “been clear since that supply run on Ryloth. We just haven’t known. Case’s been biased with his duty rosters, and I’d say the General’s been indulging him.”

Hiro grunted. “Not anymore,” he said, grimly.

Rainer was finding this portion of the conversation hard to follow. Blake looked similarly confused.

“Sorry,” Blake said, “what’s the Hanova Incident?”

The chatter in the barracks died like a fire in a rainstorm, hissing out disapprovingly.

Hiro managed a fixed smile. “Nothing to worry about boys. Ancient history.”

Link looked wary. The others were stony-faced.

Blake backtracked. “Of course, Sir. Sorry Sir.”

That seemed to finally break whatever spell the question had put the company under. The captain shook his head, like he was trying to get water out of his ears.

“Don’t worry about it, kid.” He turned to the rest of his men, “of you boys go. Get something to eat. It’s the last few hours of peace we’ll get for a while, so make use of it.”

And just like that the spark between them all is lit again. The boys, most stripped down to their blacks, laughed and talked as they file out into the corridors of the _Integral._ A well-oiled unit.

Rainer found himself exchanging an uneasy glance with Blake. _This isn’t what I thought it would be._

When he’d imagined it, the war, he’d imagined scrapping droids with his batchmates. With the brothers he’d grown up alongside, the people he’d shared his first breath with. Aside from a face, he wasn’t sure what he shared with these brothers.

_Maybe you haven’t earnt it, yet,_ something in his mind whispers. There’s no time to listen to it.

Hiro stopped them before they’re out the door. “Just a moment, Blake, Rainer. You two are both new.”

It wasn’t a question, but they nodded anyway. “Yes, Sir.”

“At ease boys,” the Captain said. “It’s rare we get shinies in Hailfire. In the entire legion, really. We don’t get back to Coruscant to often,” his smile was a little grim, “so welcome to your extended tour of duty.”

Rainer was the one to respond. “Thanks, Sir. I’m looking forward to it.” He mustn’t have been able to completely hide the sarcasm in his voice, because Hiro smirked a little.

“You’ve got a little bit of a bite in you, huh, soldier? That’s good,” he said, “worried they’re training it out of you newbies on Kamino. I’m glad to be proved wrong.”

“Thanks, Sir,” Rainer said, uncertainly. He had a right to be uncertain. Uniformity had been virtue of every week on Kamino. It was giving him whiplash, being here, seeing what it was really like.

Hiro grinned at them. “You’ll get used to it quicker than you think,” he said, “the individuality.”

Blake was frowning. “It’s not encouraged,” he said.

“Not on Kamino,” Hiro replied “but the Jedi tend to take a dim view of that line of thinking. Especially the General.”

“Why?” Rainer can’t help the question. It sounds strange. There’s a shiver sitting at the base of his neck just waiting to travel his spine. The Jedi were _strange._

Hiro shrugged, “I dunno. They can sense it, I think. Something to do with the Force.”

The shiver rolls down his back. _Kriffing mystical Jedi poodoo._ It’s always creeped him out.

“That reminds me,” Hiro says, “no one will have briefed you on this. There’s a lot they won’t brief you on.”

Blake shoots to attention, “Sir,” he protested, “I have almost every briefing on life in the GAR committed to memory.”

“At ease, Blake,” Hiro said. “Neither of you have served on this ship before. When I say you haven’t been briefed on this- you haven’t been briefed on this.”

Blake fell silent.

“ _Integral_ is the flagship of the 473rd,” Hiro explained, patiently, “so you’ll be in constant contact of our Jedi.”

_Our_ Jedi. That was new.

Hiro didn’t seem to think anything was out of the ordinary. “For that reason, we’ve got Protocol J-3 on _Integral._ It’s best you follow it whenever you’re onboard.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Blake said, quickly. “It’s not in the manual.”

“At ease, Blake,” Hiro repeated, “you wouldn’t find it written down anywhere. It’s legion specific. Goes for whenever you’re with a Jedi in combat.”

“What is it?” Rainer asked, though he figures Hiro’ll answer the question anyway.

“It’s a night terror protocol,” Hiro responded, casually, as if it’s entirely normal to have those. As if it’s entirely normal to dream. “If you have one, and you will, avoid leaving the barracks. Try to calm your emotions as soon as you wake up. Wake up any brother you see having one and stay with them. Similarly, if you’ve just had one, wake a brother up to help you. We don’t judge.”

It’s the single most bizarre order Rainer’s ever received. It makes almost no sense. To start with, they’re not supposed to have dreams. “Why?” He asked. It’s all he can say.

Hiro shrugged again. It made him seem so… _natural._ “Commander Casey put it in place,” he explained. “Commander Tally can sense it when we have nightmares. Something about strong negative emotion. If she senses it, she’ll probably come and check it out. Especially if you’ve left the barracks. Stay put, and think positive and there’s a smaller chance we’ll accidentally call on her.”

“Who in Seven Systems is Commander Tally?”

Blake seemed equally alarmed. “She’s not on any documentation _I’ve_ looked over.”

Hiro just looked bemused. “Oh, she wouldn’t be. Avis had her name scrubbed from the public record after Hanova.” He looked thoughtful for a minute. “First time I’ve ever seen him even slightly angry. Jedi Commander Tally is second-in-command of the 473rd. She’s a Jedi apprentice. She’s still young, like you boys.” He smiled, “young, but still a Jedi. You haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen a Jedi scrapping clankers.”

***

Rainer realised quickly that the 473rd didn’t really see the Jedi as _just_ commanders. A certain level of fraternity amongst the troops themselves was commonplace. Rainer himself fell into it easily. He just didn’t expect how quickly he fell into it with Jedi, too.

Hailfire was involved in a raid on a suspected terrorist safehouse, and Hiro was after a sniper.

“Rain,” he barked during the briefing, flicking information across his data-pad. “You had the highest accuracy scores in you batch.” He looked up from the pad. “Can you handle a long-range blaster rifle?”

Rainer allows the pride to touch his voice, just a little, “any make or model, Sir.”

“Good,” Hiro says, “grab yourself one from the armoury before we go out.”

“Yes, Sir,” Rainer responds. He’s happier than he’s been in days. There’s something good about being wanted for a job.

And that’s how it goes. They spend two weeks on Concordia hunting. Every second day or so, a report will come in (Rain doesn’t know from where) and Hailfire will be dispatched to check it out. Rain will split off from the group, don a dusty brown cloak over his armour, and sit on a roof.

He kills first on the second mission they locate the targets. One of them has forced Trip outside, at gun-point. Rain doesn’t hesitate. His finger is feather-light and sure as it squeezes the trigger.

The force of the bolt slams the traitor against the wall.

Trip salutes him in thanks.

It isn’t the last time he kills.

***

They’re nearly finished on Concordia. He knows because, more fool their prey, the terrorists have retreated to an old mining base. All of them, together.

Commander Casey leads a briefing. Nearly a whole battalion will be going down. They have the briefing in the hangar just to fit them all in.

“Listen up, boys,” he said, as a projection of the mine schematics comes up. “We’ve got one chance to do this right. The enemy believes the mine to be a fool proof hiding space. They’re right. We’d be foolish to follow them in there.”

_Foolish_ was a kind word. Rain thought they’d be kriffing stupid to even attempt it. It looked like a labyrinth, even in the glowing blue of a hologram projection. He could only imagine what it would be like in the dark, narrow passages trying to avoid old mining equipment all the while being hunted by disgruntled mandalorians.

“Commander Tally has devised a plan,” Casey began. Rain felt his enthuseasim dim somewhat. He knew that the Jedi were important to many of his brothers. But he still felt… a little like they were intruders in his family. He wasn’t sure exactly what they did. He’d never seen them in person. He didn’t even know what Commander Tally looked like.

Casey clearly disagreed. “The Commander will take a small force of clones through the exhaust entrance, _here,”_ he gestured to the highlighted region of the map. “This stealth team will place charges, causing strategic collapses in the tunnels, forcing the remains of the enemy force out into the open where we will confront them. Understood?”

“Sir, yes, Sir,” echoed through the main hangar.

***

The first time he sees her, the air is thick with dust and blaster bolts and she’s practically dancing through a knot of Mandalorians.

Dancing is too nice a word for it. The way she fights _is_ graceful, but this isn’t an art form. At least, it shouldn’t be. The Mandalorian terrorists are giving her blaster bolts. She returns them without a second thought. If that doesn’t do the trick, Rain watches her lightsaber’s brilliant blue blade go straight through them.

Even as she cuts them down, more come up to take her place. He’s stopped firing in favour of just watching her move.

She is magnetic. They all want to dance with her.

Dimly, he is aware of the other figures down in the kill zone. His brothers were well positioned to take them on. Many Mandalorians are falling. They seem to know this is a battle they won’t win. For some reason, it must be an honourable death to go out trying to kill a Jedi. Even an apprentice like Commander Tally.

Avis had lit up on corner of the mine entrance with a bright green glow. Through the scope of his blaster, Rain had seen Casey back to back with him, dual pistols firing, watching his General’s back.

Rain wasn’t watching them now. His job, as a sniper, was to pick targets out on the kill-zone floor and end them.

He was failing.

For at least a minute, his scope had stayed fixed on Tally, and the throng of warriors that kept coming to her.

He didn’t think she’d seen the warrior behind her. Something powerful roared in his chest, everything tightening with adrenaline.

His blaster bolt went through a weak point in the Mandalorian’s armour just as leapt upwards and into a flip, slicing the blaster in two as she landed.

The flip didn’t seem to have tired her. Anything but.

She looked up at the ridgeline where he was stationed, eyes tracing the length of the kill, and _smiled._ Tally bowed her head slightly, as if to say, _good shot,_ before she was away and whirling again, a deadly storm of light.

Rainer didn’t mention it to anyone. He hadn’t done anything remarkable.

He hadn’t even saved her life, she’d known exactly where her opponent was and just how to stop him.

Still, the moment she’d landed, looking up and grinning…. It didn’t exactly leave his head.

***

Bria is in an unusually good mood.

Which is _wrong_ she tries to tell herself, because modern Jedi wisdom is that they do not have ‘moods’ and that they are stoic, graceful soldiers.

But she’s never really bought that. She knows lots of the masters disapprove of the rhetoric which is meant to make them better warriors (more isolated, more aloof, like that’s ever helped anyone) but not better people.

Her master straddles the line.

There _is_ a war on, he reminds her when her compassion gets the better of her. But she knows that Avis respects older teachings too, what his master had taught him before being a Jedi meant being a General.

_Attachments_ Master Windu would say, _excess emotion_ leads to the dark side. It is strength to not show those things.

Master Windu is one of the best _Generals._

Kayvin teaches differently. Being a Jedi is about knowing when to control your emotions. When to hold on, and when to let go.

Attachments were key to the Order, when you thought about it. It was how they learnt, bonds of wisdom and learning linking together generations of Jedi.

A Lineage was more than class list of students and teachers. A Lineage was tangible in the Force.

Bria is often glad that Kayvin chose her.

She is particularly glad of it after Concordia, and the final battle at the mine. A sensation of _rightness_ through the Force when she locked eyes with the brother. The thrill of teamwork heightening her connection to the life and lives around her, like he’d given her a back door the network between them just by being there for her.

So, she was in an unusually good mood for after a Battle.

If Master Avis noticed, he didn’t say anything.

***

The first time Rainer talks to her, he’s disobeying orders.

Not intentionally, but still.

It’s months after Concordia. The 473rd had rolled on through more systems. Reinforcing, reconnaissance, recovery.

Things were tense in the Outer Rim. The Hutts were causing enough trouble that it felt like they were fighting a war on two fronts.

He remembers very little from Tatooine.

There was a Separatist weapons development lab somewhere in the kriffing desert. They weren’t even meant to be the ones to go after it.

Casey was livid when they got turned around after (the rumour said) General Skywalker flat out refused to complete the mission.

The 212th was closest, but they were engaged.

The 473rd had been going to reinforce them, and the 501st to Tatooine.

But that changed.

The conflict itself did not lend itself to his particular skill set.

He was on the ground with the rest of his brothers. Avis was on the ground with them, lightsaber in hand, Commander Casey at his shoulder, and Commander Tally off his other shoulder. They were mowing their way through the droids, and even though he didn’t have his rifle in his hands this felt like _family._ This was his family, and this was their business.

Blake had grown into Hailfire with him, and they’d grown to fit both of them into their ranks. The barracks had never been cleaner, Link had told them once. Blake had said something sarcastic about procedure and reading the manual.

Then again, there was nothing in the manual about being off your face drunk in a Cantina on some back-water planet they were allowed half a day’s shore-leave on.

And Blake had been.

That being said, there was nothing in the manual about what to do when you got a hole blown in your chest by a Super Battle Droid.

And Blake had that, too.

Rainer didn’t remember much of the raid after that. Except in his dreams. Nightmares.

He’d had his first nightmare after his first organic kill. Concordia. Hunting Mandalorian terrorists. Saving Trip’s life.

Blake had been the one to shake him awake. Hadn’t accepted his thanks, afterwards, just kept saying, “I’m following orders, Rainer. You’d do the same for me. It’s Protocol J-3, after all.”

(Blake loved- had loved- protocol. He’d written all the unwritten rules of the 473rd into his field manual. It was still in his locker when they got back to the _Integral._ )

(Rainer hardly thinks about J-3)

The nightmares about Blake didn’t start until weeks after Tatooine. Hailfire is finally getting back to normal.

They’re back under the minimum number of troopers for a Company, and Hiro’s finally gotten around to putting in the request for a Shiny.

(He’d been putting it off, and they all knew it.)

(Commander Casey had had to have a word with him.)

They’d all had a good laugh in training. They’d protected a supply drop for rebels on Onderon. It had finally felt _good_ again.

It didn’t make any sense for the nightmares to start when they did.

But they did.

And Rain woke up by himself, ears ringing with an explosion that had happened both weeks and seconds ago.

Blake wasn’t there to talk to him, show him the entry under 473rd Legion- Protocol J-3. And suddenly there are just too many people in the barracks. There’s both too much and not enough peace. It’s too hot.

He pads out of the barracks into the cool, dark corridors (dim for the sleep cycle) in baggy off-duty blacks, which at least feel more like clothes than the skin-tight blacks for under his armour.

Somehow, he ends up in the Mess.

It’s empty and cool and utterly, utterly quiet. He sits on a bench and puts his head in his hands to breathe.

Rainer doesn’t hear her come in, or even approach him. Gradually, though, the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears fades out enough for him to realise there’s a presence.

He looks up slowly, assuming it’s a brother or a cleaning droid or something.

It’s not.

It’s _her._

The Jedi.

Commander Tally.

“Hi,” she says. Her voice is soft, and a little raspy, like she’s just woken up. He’s a little surprised. Her accent isn’t Coruscanti, refined and polished, like Avis and the other Jedi he’s heard. It’s lilting and a little bouncy. He’s never heard anything like it before.

When she asks, “are you alright?” He remembers quite suddenly that this is _Commander Tally,_ the Jedi, and _not_ a girl with a fascinating accent.

Rain shoots to his feet.

Protocol J-3, he thinks wildly. It had been made for her, he remembered. To stop their clunky emotions from overwhelming her. And what had he done?

Nothing that the Protocol said he should have.

“Sorry, Sir,” he’s jolted to his feet, and realises he isn’t even wearing shoes. “I-” he doesn’t know what to say. “I shouldn’t have woken you.”

Tally smiles. “At ease,” she says. “I don’t mind.” Her gaze soft, careful. “Sit down,” she said.

Rainer sat.

“You’re the sniper,” she says, dimpling at him. “From Concordia.”

All the blood in his body seems to have gone to his face. “You remembered, Sir.”

“Of course,” she said, “it was an excellent shot,” and then, surprisingly, “you don’t have to call me ‘Sir.’ Afterall, we’re both in sleeping clothes. It doesn’t really seem the right occasion.”

Rain hadn’t noticed that yet. Now he couldn’t not notice it.

Tally wasn’t in her robes. She was wearing an old, sleeveless tunic and dark leggings. They looked woolen.

(Why are you looking at her _legs?_ Blake hissed in his mind. That is against protocol!)

All of this was against protocol. Tally, his commanding officer, didn’t seem to care.

She was perched on the bench opposite him, knees drawn into her chest.

“What’s your name?” She asked.

He knew enough by now (thanks to Casey’s updated ‘you live in an actual universe, not a simulation’ briefings) to know that she wasn’t asking for a number.

“Rainer,” he said. “The brothers call me Rain, mostly.”

“You get to choose, don’t you,” she said, “why Rainer?”

The question throws him even more off guard than usual. It wouldn’t normally, only, “there are two answers to that question.”

Tally smiles again. “I have time.”

“Well,” he begins uncertainly, “I’m a sniper. Trained as one, too, so the brothers kind of just… gave it too me.”

A civilian wouldn’t get it. Maybe a Jedi a hundred years ago wouldn’t have understood either.

But Tally is a part of this legion too. She’s a soldier like them, though the republic would like to pretend she isn’t. Rainer’s certain of that much. The kind of comradery his brothers feel for the Jedi wouldn’t have come if there wasn’t some measure of equality between them.

She laughs and it’s deeper than he expected, from her chest. “As in, ‘raining death from above?’”

“Got it in one,” Rainer said.

“And the other reason?”

The smile he hadn’t even been aware was on his face drops a little. “Ah,” he said, “that’s a little less impressive. I kept ‘Rainer’ because I grew up on Kamino. Seemed like a nice reminder.”

He knows, somehow, that she understands.

“The rain,” she said, “I’ve heard about it. Master Kenobi got so wet he took ill after Kamino and Geonosis. He took a chill in his chest.”

It was one of the few tapes they’d been shown, that fight in the rain, he recalled suddenly, of how the Jedi fought against soldiers like him, just in case-

He winced sharply at the sudden headache.

Whatever he’d been thinking had vanished, and his head was full of Commander Tally again, smiling at him from across the passage between tables in the Mess.

“What about you?” He asked, reckless. “What’s your name?”

(Later, he’d bury his face in his pillow and wonder as to how he was such a stupid, stupid shiny.)

Tally doesn’t seem to mind a jot. “Briallen,” she says. “Occasionally I am called Bria.”

“Why did you choose it?”

(In the moment he is so, so reckless. He doesn’t have a brain, apparently.)

“I didn’t,” she says.

He realises, slowly, that of course she hadn’t chosen it. That wasn’t how the naturally born worked. Commander Casey had explained in another of his seminars, in detail, exactly how _that_ process worked. Specifically, in humans. It was easy to forget that they were humans too, that their progenitor had been human.

“My parents gave it too me,” Briallen explained.

His throat is suddenly dry. “Does it mean anything?”

“Primrose,” she says, softly, “in my native tongue. It’s a kind of flower. The first of Spring.”

He leaves the mess soon after that, feeling both like he’s crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed, and better than he has for weeks.

(Her voice saying, _Primrose,_ is all he dreams of for weeks.)

***

Captain Hiro, on doing is inspection of Hailfire’s barracks, doesn’t comment on the paper wedged into mesh of the bunk over Rain’s.

He knows what it is.

A page of the field manual, with a carefully written addition at the bottom:

_Grand Army of the Republic, 473 rd Legion Protocol J-3: “Night Terrors”_

***

The first time he touches her, he’s bleeding from a hole in his shoulder.

Snipers are always exposed.

It’s a part of the job. The key is being in a position where your prey is more exposed to you than you are to them.

A tactical droid must have noticed that Hailfire had a new sniper, and programmed accordingly. Because there was a band of droids behind him before he knew what was happening, even as his brother’s and their Jedi fought viciously along the bottom of the hill he was stationed on. The bolt goes through his shoulder just as he takes a shot, and it skews wildly down into the fighting.

He barely has time to hope it didn’t hit one of his own before they hit him between the eyes with the butt of a blaster and he’s out like a light.

He wakes up to the distinctive hum of lightsabers, and mechanical screaming of the B1 battle droids in the corridors outside his cell.

Casey breaks in the door, both pistols in hand. Over his shoulder, through the blur in his vision, he can see Briallen- _no-_ Commander Tally haloed in blue standing guard in the corridor.

“Easy, there, trooper,” Casey says, gently, through his bucket. “We’ve got you.”

There’s a commotion in the corridor outside and he sees, mildly shocked, Briallen unsheathe a second lightsaber. Indigo blazes as she streaks into the fray that Rain can’t see from inside.

“Kriff,” Casey swears.

“You should have left me,” he groans to Casey.

Casey ignores this, and drags him up off the floor, supporting most of his weight across his shoulders.

Outside, he hears Briallen gasp in pain. He feels Casey tense. “Come on,” Casey grunts, heaving him out the door.

Rain is relieved when he doesn’t hear the unmistakable sound of a lightsaber being extinguished. Briallen is still up and fighting when they get out into the corridor, but she’s being forced down the passage by a horde of battle droids. There’s a dark streak of blood slowly growing on her side, and on her arm. She must have been grazed. At least she’s still upright.

“So much for stealth,” Casey grumbles.

Briallen is somehow blocking all the blaster bolts from coming anywhere near them, even as she limps backwards, edging down the hall.

“How are we going, Case?” She yells over her shoulder.

“I can see the extraction point, Sir!” Casey responds.

Rain can’t. He can only see an ornate window of the building that the Seppies had commandeered in this city when they took it.

_Oh._

“Good,” Briallen yells back, and thrusts both hands in front of her. The crowd of B1s keels over, and she makes another motion, suddenly, violently, down. A blast door slams between them.

“That should hold them for now,” she says, clipping her sabers back onto her belt, “let’s get going, Commander.”

Casey makes a noise of agreement before pulling out his blaster and shooting the window.

A shuttle seems to take that as the signal, swooping in and presenting the loading ramp for the impossible jump.

“Can you jump, Casey?” Briallen asks.

“Might need some help,” Casey responds.

Gently, Casey sets him down, before launching himself into the air. Briallen’s got her hands out again, somehow pushing him the rest of the way. Then, she crouches down, pulling his arm over her shoulders.

He’s half delusional, but he can tell how strong she is.

“We’re going to jump, Rain,” she says, determined and calm.

He nods tiredly. “Okay.”

The clankers are thudding at the blast doors behind them. She backs them to the other side of the corridor. Rain feels solid wall against his back, before her hand presses gently into his back, propelling him forwards.

They run, and jump into nothingness and _something_ that Rain has never felt before is pushing them the rest of the way, answering Briallen’s call. They land roughly in a tangle of limbs on the ramp of the shuttle and Casey is yelling.

“Go, go, go,” he’s saying as he pulls them both up the ramp and into the belly of the ship. He mutters something like, ‘crazy kids,’ as he does so, before helping them sit upright.

Briallen grunts in what Rain assumes is pain. “You alright, Bria?” Casey is asking in a low, cautious voice. She nods, smiling weekly, but her face is a little pale, and one of her hands has snaked across her body to hold the bleeding gash in her side.

Casey frowns down at them. “You’re both going to need the medbay,” he says. “I’m going to comm them to expect you.”

Briallen watches quietly as he vanishes into the cockpit, grimacing.

“You should have just left me,” Rain insists, trying to ignore the thrum in his shoulder and how light-headed he feels.

Briallen closes her eyes and leans back against the wall. “Don’t be silly,” she says.

“I’m serious,” Rain continues, “you’re _hurt._ You and Casey could have died coming to get me. It was a stupid risk.”

She grunts again and opens one sliver of an eye to look at him. “ _Byddwch yn dawel,”_ she says in a language he doesn’t recognise, “ _rydym yn un yr un peth. Teulu._ ” She switches to basic, “of _course_ we came for you.”

***

They both spend two days in the med bay.

He’s barely conscious by the time they reach it. (Concussion symptoms. Blood loss)

Briallen, somehow, is still conscious. Enough to strip her blood-sodden robes away from her body without a second thought, leaving her sitting on the bed in her boots, leggings, and a band around her breasts.

When Rain wakes up, all he remembers from their arrival in med bay is the sight of the huge, twisted scar on her abdomen.

She’s asleep when he wakes, in the bed across from him. They haven’t wasted a whole bacta tank on either of them. There’s an IV hooked into Rain’s elbow, and his shoulder feels fat from where they’ve swaddled him in bacta bandages.

He remembers something from his first day, ignoring the twinge of pain that comes with the memory of Blake, and focuses on Hiro, and the silence of the troopers of Hailfire when the Hanova incident was mentioned.

_“Avis had her name scrubbed from the public record after Hanova.”_

That scar he’d seen… she should be _dead._ The realisation brought a sick kind of cramping to his chest- an emotion he couldn’t identify. That scar was what was left of a gut shot. And that scarring pattern? Point blank.

Whatever it was, it definitely should have killed her.

When she woke up, it was the first thing he could think to say to her.

At first, she didn’t know what he was talking about before he says, “your stomach.”

Realisation blooms across her features. “Oh,” she says, “yeah. Hanova. That was… strange. I don’t remember much.”

And then she explains. The entire Hanova incident, and Rain _understands._ He understands why J-3 is a thing, and why Casey and Hiro call Avis and Tally _our_ Jedi. He understands why Casey tensed when he heard Briallen cry out in pain, and why he’s always so steady at Avis’ right hand.

(Later, this feeling intensifies when someone tells him Bria only got hit because she was too busy saving Casey.)

The thought of anyone hurting her makes him itch for his rifle. He is savagely pleased when she mentions Avis’ quick retribution for the film crew.

It is a feeling, an emotion, he hadn’t been trained for. Not really even a single emotion. But many: belonging, compassion, concern, fraternity, love. Definitely love.

He wondered, idly, once they’d both drifted back into healing sleeps, how he’d ever found the Jedi aloof, or intruders.

Briallen had taken a bolt for Casey. Had taken two rescuing him today.

Avis made sure they were fed, and well-cared for, and apparently put together many of the presentations Commander Casey gave on life outside the GAR.

They were both at nearly every battle he’d ever fought in. He wondered how many of his brothers’ lives they’d saved.

_No,_ he stopped himself. They weren’t _his_ brothers. They were _their_ brothers.

Rain definitely understood. This was the kind of family you lived and died for.

**Author's Note:**

> Briallen really does mean ‘Primrose’ in Welsh. For that reason, I kind of adopted Welsh as her native tongue (and the inspiration for her accent) though of course it isn’t called ‘Welsh.’
> 
> What she says to Rain is “be quiet” and then “we are one and the same. A family.” Of course, I don’t actually speak Welsh, so I used Google. Sorry to any Welsh speakers if I got that catastrophically wrong- I think the language is beautiful!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading!


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